


All You Wanted

by palavapeite



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adolescent Sexuality, Coming Out, Gen, Ginny is an understanding mum, Harry is trying his best not to be an uncool dad, Harry still has issues about naming members of his household, M/M, and the sixth is secretly stashed away in his night stand, angsting about Quidditch aptness, but he would be flattered, james is embarrassed of them anyway, oliver doesn't know james has six posters of him in his room, percy is awkwardly trying to be supportive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-18
Updated: 2011-09-18
Packaged: 2018-02-12 10:45:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2106822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/palavapeite/pseuds/palavapeite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All James wants is some peace to think. And possibly someone to talk to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All You Wanted

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure whether I should include a warning for “pubescent James”. Just saying, prepare for the hormonal instabilities of a 14-year-old.
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks go, as always, to [nerakrose](http://archiveofourown.org/users/nerakrose) for the beta.

There was a soft knock on the door before his mother stuck her head in.

“We're going down to the lake for a swim and ice cream, want to come along?”

“No.”

Ginny frowned and tilted her head.

“You'll be at home alone; are you sure? You don't want ice cream?” She paused and put some conspiratorial cheer into her voice. “Scorpius's parents are going to meet us at the ice cream parlour to pick him up. Dad'll want to impress Draco, so you can bet you'd get away ordering a wagonload of butterbeer cream on top...”

“I'm fine here,” came the grunted reply from the bed.

Noises of people getting ready downstairs were audible – in particular Albus and Scorpius teasing Lily about her new bikini while Harry seemed to be hell bent on taking along the rubber boat they'd used as a swimming pool when the children had been toddlers.

“Muuuuuum,” Lily yelled up the stairs. “Are you coming? _Fuck off, Al, I tied it in a knot-_ ”

Ginny hesitated, one hand on the handle as she sceptically looked at the moody lump that was her pubescent firstborn. She was sure that she could count the times James had left the house this summer on one hand, which was a somewhat radical development for a boy who'd spent most of the previous summer gillyweed diving and had only come home for dinner and sleep.

Then again, she reminded herself, he was _fourteen_. From what Fleur had told her, Ginny gathered that the best thing you could do with fourteen-year-olds was patiently sit it out and wait for the day they turned eighteen.

“There's leftovers from lunch in the fridge. And possibly some ice cream if you dig past the frozen pasta sauce in the freezer,” she said softly and James grunted again, something that could possibly be interpreted as “thanks, bye”.

Ginny suppressed a sigh.

“If you feel like joining us after all, we'll be at our usual spot and we'll meet the Malfoys at the ice cream parlour at five – take the bike, not the broom, yeah?”

James seemed unwilling to acknowledge her attempt at humour.

“We'll be back at about seven.”

“All right.”

Ginny closed the door as softly as she'd opened it and James could hear her walking down the stairs and speaking in a voice that conveyed her displeasure with whatever Harry had apparently tried to do with the rubber boat.

James sighed and slumped a bit deeper into the corner between his bed and the wall. Staring ahead he could hear the sounds of his parents hoarding Lily, Albus, Scorpius and what appeared to be the rubber boat, after all, into and onto the family car. The lake they usually went to was visited by Muggles as well as Wizarding families, so arriving in a conspicuous manner was generally frowned upon.

When the car had left the driveway and accelerated down the road, James let himself fall sideways onto the mattress and buried his head in his pillow while blindly tangling his limbs into the sheets. He lay perfectly still, wondering how long he could last without having to breathe.

There was a certain delight in the tiny white dots that danced in front of his eyes when he finally lifted his head to exhale loudly. Relaxing back onto his bed, he closed his eyes.

Finally some peace.

He felt a sudden surge of annoyance at his family and their sociable summer cheerfulness.

No, he wasn't going to join anyone at the lake, thanks.

And no, he didn't want to talk about it. Well, that much his mother seemed to have understood by now. Most of the time, anyway.

Sniffing, James stared straight ahead. His parents seemed to think that he was 'being reclusive'. Well, tough luck, James thought. They clearly didn't understand a thing. It's like they didn't even want to understand. Albus, he'd always been a quiet kid – until he'd met Scorpius and mutated into a plague rat, at least – and no-one had ever been bothered by that. And now that James wanted to be left alone to think, for heaven's sake, now it was suddenly an outrage. He was 'shutting himself off'.

Screw them.

As if they had any idea at all.

And no, he couldn't just 'tell them what was wrong'. Duh.

He snorted when he recalled his mother's attempt at bonding. She still acted as if he was some little boy who'd cheer up as soon as she waved ice cream in front of his face. Yeah, no. That wasn't going to happen. He was four _teen_ and not four.

His Dad's attempt at socialising had been better, granted – a special edition of his favourite Quidditch magazine – and James hadn't really meant to snap at him when he'd asked him if he was all right, but... well, it had seemed like the thing to do at the time. His Dad had looked a little deflated, but seemed to have accepted it.

Curling up and hugging his pillow, James stared at a dirty pair of socks on the floor.

If he was being very honest with himself he wasn't half as bad-tempered as he let people believe. Most of the time he was just snapping at everyone to keep them from asking him _what was wrong_.

For fuck's sake.

He'd actually have liked to have a Quidditch chat with his Dad, but he didn't want to talk about his feelings and thoughts and troubles and he didn't want people to think they had a right to ask as soon as James was 'being nice again'. And he didn't want to be forced to apologise for his 'grumpiness', either.

Listening to the ticking of the clock, James pulled the sheets tighter around himself.

He just needed to figure things out. Why couldn't they respect that? He needed to get his head around stuff before he could talk about it.

Admittedly, sometimes he thought that having someone to talk to would help him get his head around stuff.

James groaned and closed his eyes tightly.

Yes, only there was really no-one – _no-one_ – he could talk to about this. Neither his Mum nor his Dad, nor – Merlin forbid – his grandparents. Dobby the kneazle was probably a better option.

Shaking his head, he sat up and tried to get out of bed. Cursing when he stepped onto a dirty plate he'd left there the night before, he looked around for something to wipe his foot with.

His eyes fell on his Quidditch shirt. As he grabbed it and began to scrub pizza crumbs off his toes he wondered, not for the first time this summer, if he'd have to give up Quidditch when he got back to Hogwarts in September. Probably. If he didn't sort out... well, stuff...

Steetley had graduated in June, he told himself. He wouldn't come back.

...As if that made a difference. James snorted again and flung the shirt into a corner. He couldn't even go down to the lake for a swim without running danger of embarrassing himself to the bone. Hell, the one – and last – time he'd been swimming this summer he'd been trapped in the water for an hour because of a skinny and freckly Muggle boy who'd been snogging his girlfriend on the shore.

Showering in the locker rooms with teammates was _not on_ , even if they were not sculpted marble Apollos like Will Steetley.

So there went Quidditch, then.

Considering that his whole life sucked, he really shouldn't expect anything else.

Glaring at the dirty plate at his feet as if he could make it go away by sheer willpower, James eventually sighed. His Dad would ask questions. Hell, he'd probably play his Chosen One card, come up to Hogwarts in person and demand to know what was going on, telling him that James Potter didn't 'just give up Quidditch'.

And he'd have a point, James had to admit. He wouldn't usually.

But how could James Potter explain to his father that... that... god, how was he even supposed to phrase it? That he 'sported wood' whenever he saw a bloke in his undies? That he 'got a stiffy in the locker room'? That he would rather 'polish a broomstick' than chase after Quaffles? _With a cheeky wink added?_

The mere thought made James feel physically sick and he shook it off by resolutely picking up the plate, determined to take it back downstairs and put it in the sink and never again think of metaphors to give to his father in conversation about his sexuality.

If he was ever going to have a conversation with anyone about it.

Gloomily, he descended the stairs, blinking against the bright sunlight that came flooding in through the kitchen windows. What a lovely day to be frolicking in the cool waters of a lake. Not.

His mother hadn't lied about the ice cream buried under tons of pasta sauce, at least.

Walking back upstairs, clutching a bowl of ice cream and a big spoon, James's gaze fell on the photographs above the Floo. Most of them were of him, Albus and Lily and the occasional cousins added here and there. There was one of Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione with Hugo and Rose, a wedding photograph of his parents, Uncle Bill and Uncle George with their families, one of Harry, Teddy and Andromeda and one giant group photo, taken the Christmas after Lily'd been born. Uncle Charlie had come from Romania. He was waving cheerfully at the camera from where he stood right behind his parents, next to Uncle Percy, who smiled sombrely, holding a glass of mulled wine.

James paused for a moment as a thought began to gnaw at the back of his mind. But no, he was being desperate. He hadn't seen Percy in months, not since last Christmas and they hadn't talked much back then, either. He'd never had much to do with the man, uncle or not. When James had been younger, Uncle Percy's place had been the most boring of all his relatives' homes and they hadn't visited often. James saw Percy mostly at his grandparents' house, at Christmas and birthday parties, and somehow he always seemed to be talking about work and dull things.

But maybe he'd know what James was going through... at least a little.

Yeah, right. Uncle Percy.

As a teenager he'd probably been too busy to be confused and as an adult he'd probably had his homosexuality publicly announced between an urgent Floo call with the minister and passing a referendum. Or whatever it was he did at work.

Besides, James reasoned, Uncle Percy would most likely give him an explanatory guidebook and a pat on the head.

He was probably better off trying to figure things out alone. He still had five weeks of holidays ahead, after all.

~*~

“Is Mad-Eye in?”

Ginny, who was taking stock of groceries left in the fridge, turned around in surprise to look at her eldest son, who seemed to be hiding behind the doorpost.

“He's in his cage,” she replied. “He returned from Romania this morning. What do you need him for?”

“Nothing,” James muttered. “I just need to send a letter. Short distance, don't worry.”

He turned around to step outside into what had originally been planned as a small greenhouse, but now served as a mixture of garden shed, broom cupboard, kneazle home and owlery. Mad-Eye, the family owl – James's own owl hadn't been home in days, apparently fed up with her owner's indifference to the prey she brought back – was sitting in his cage, dozing. The creak of the door caused him to open one eye and hoot dangerously.

“All right, keep your ear tufts on,” James muttered as he opened the cage door. “You need to deliver this for me, okay? It's not far...” Mad-Eye glowered at him as to say 'I just returned from Romania, you twat!' and James sighed. “... _Please?_ ”

Ruffling his feathers in annoyance, Mad-Eye held his leg out and waited for James to tie the envelope to it before clicking his beak a couple of times and setting off.

“Urgent business?”

James turned around and shrugged when he saw his Dad leaning in the door.

“Just... birthday wishes for a mate.”

“I see.” Harry contemplated him for a moment. “Want to help me de-gnome the garden? Some exercise after lunch?” When James didn't reply but just stared at him, he rolled his eyes. “Okay, it was a long shot, admittedly. But I had to try.”

James suddenly chuckled.

“S'all right. I'll do it.” When his Dad smiled, he added quickly. “At least for a _bit_.”

 

Half an hour later James was sure he had never sweated this much in his entire life. Not that it was particularly hot – his Dad seemed to be just fine – but apparently lying in his room all summer hadn't particularly helped James keeping fit.

“...and neither did Hermione, so in the end she had to hex a random French Muggle to get her husband back,” Harry concluded a story Ron had told him over a beer the other day and laughed amusedly. “Of course she was _furious_ , but apparently she was too embarrassed about her French not having been up to the task, so she didn't make a fuss...”

James chuckled, glad that his Dad hadn't even tried to talk about feelings and embarrassing stuff. Harry had avoided talking about their family altogether, considering the row James and Albus had had in the morning, but instead had nattered on about Ron and Hermione's trip to France and Teddy's latest news from Egypt, where he'd begun working for Gringotts, with a little help from Bill.

When Ginny stepped out into the garden a little time later, James was exhausted, but surprisingly relaxed.

“Mad-Eye's back!” she called and James straightened up, awkwardly looking at Harry, who nodded towards the house.

“Well, go,” his Dad rolled his eyes, smiling. “Thanks for helping.”

“S'all right,” James muttered in reply. “Thanks.”

_Dear James,_  
I've got the day off work, so feel free to drop by for tea. I'll have a cup ready for you.  
I'll be on a business trip for a week from Monday, so perhaps today is the most convenient option. I presume you will be returning to Hogwarts before I’m back from abroad.  
Percy 

Gripping the piece of parchment nervously, James felt his heart beat in his throat. For tea? Today? In what, _an hour?_

James swallowed hard, thinking that this was all happening much too fast. He hadn't-

“Everything okay?” Ginny asked as she passed the greenhouse, looking at James's shocked expression. He shook his head.

“It's nothing. I'm fine.” He paused. “Erm, I'm having tea at Uncle Percy's.”

“Erm, okay?” Ginny replied, slightly taken aback. “Am I allowed to know why?”

James tried to shrug nonchalantly, but was afraid it came across more awkward than anticipated.

“I'd just... you know, I thought I'd like to talk to him about... something. Erm, school-related. Prefect stuff. Just... some things I've been wondering about...”

For what it was worth, his Mum seemed to be buying it.

“Planning on setting up another tradition of prefects and head boys in this family?” she asked, a little teasingly, and James blushed.

“No, I... I don't know. I'll see, I guess...”

“Aw, honey,” Ginny smiled, patting his shoulder and giving it a slight squeeze. “Give Percy my love, okay? And tell him to drop by sometime. I haven't seen him all summer...”

“Will do,” James replied and Ginny moved away, halting only to throw James a careful glance.

“But... you know, love, perhaps you should take a shower before you leave...”

_~*~_

“James! Good to see you, come in!”

Stepping out of the Floo into the entrance hall, James let himself be led into the kitchen, glad that Percy was sensible enough to skip any attempt at a welcome hug that would have been bound to be awkward anyway.

“Thanks for having me,” James replied, trying to remember his manners, “I'm sorry it was such short notice...”

Percy waved it off.

“Tsh, not at all, not at all. As I said in my letter, it's my day off and I'm always glad for company. By the way, do you mind-”

They entered the kitchen and James stopped dead when he spotted someone sitting at the table already with a cup of tea, currently helping himself to a slice of cake. When he spotted James he sheepishly licked icing off his index finger and waved at him.

“...Oliver spontaneously dropped in ten minutes ago and bribed me with cake to let him stay for tea. As you can see,” Percy finished his sentence dryly and James tried to gather his jaw back up from the floor.

“Er, I... yeah.”

Oliver. Wood.

He wanted to kick himself. Uncle Percy was friends with Oliver Wood. Fuck they'd been school mates, hadn't they?

James, who associated Oliver Wood primarily with Uncle George's adventurous tales of pub crawl mischief, needed a moment to get over his surprise and take Oliver's outstretched hand.

“You've grown quite a lot since I last saw you,” Oliver grinned, shaking James's hand. “Admittedly, you were also a toddler. I think it was the first and last time your Mum brought you along to anything that involved George and me in the same room...”

“Wonder why that would be,” Percy muttered as he prepared another cup of tea for James. “Do sit down, James. Or is it Jamie still?”

“NO!” James blurted out as he sat down, glancing at Oliver from the corner of his eye. “No, it's James. I've been trying to get everyone to stop calling me Jamie for years...”

“I wish you better luck than I have with my team, then,” Oliver grinned and something inside James melted a little at being addressed directly by Oliver Wood. Percy raised an eyebrow.

“Still calling you Ollie?”

“Vera. Lovingly so.”

Percy chuckled, while James almost choked on his tea.

“And you don't mind?” he asked quietly, blushing furiously.

“Nah, it's fine,” Oliver shrugged. “I mean, I don't invite you and everyone else to call me Vera, but it's all good fun with the team.”

“I wouldn't ever,” James muttered, looking at his cup of tea and nodding when Percy offered him a slice of cake that he immediately began to dig into.

“So how's your summer been?” Percy asked, sounding a little as if he wasn't quite sure what to say.

“Okay, I guess. I don't know,” James shrugged. “I've not been up to much.”

“I hear you're quite a good Quidditch player,” Oliver prompted and James wanted to die on the spot. Oliver Wood – _Oliver Wood_ – had heard of him and asked him about Quidditch.

“I, er... I played Chaser for Gryffindor last year,” he eventually replied, shrugging again. “I guess I'm okay enough.”

“That doesn't sound too enthusiastic,” Oliver winked, smiling. “And there I was, hoping to have found someone to take over my job when I retire.”

“I-” James cleared his throat, “I'm thinking I might give it up... I don't know yet.” He stared into his tea again, wanting to smack himself. He was behaving like the biggest loser on the planet. In front of Oliver Wood. Of whom he only had five posters hanging on his wall.

Or possibly six.

He wanted to die.

Taking part in the conversation again, Percy set his dessert fork down and reached for his teacup.

“I, erm... I'm not sure how to bring this up elegantly, but, you know, James, your letter sounded like you wanted to talk about something.”

James looked up at his uncle and could hear his heart pounding in his ears again.

“Erm, yeah... but I don't know...” he trailed off. How did one get started on subjects like that?

“I think... Vera will be powdering her nose for a moment...,” Oliver said as he set his tea down and got up. Percy glanced at him for a second, then looked back at James, who was gathering his courage.

“Can you... can you promise not to tell Mum or Dad... or anyone, really. Please?”

Percy looked taken aback.

“Why? Are you in trouble?” he asked and James fell silent, panic creeping up his spine.

Oliver, who had pulled the door half shut behind himself, groaned and turned around again. “Honestly, Percy, you can be fucking _terrifying_ when you attempt humour...”

“Sorry,” Percy muttered, looking at James's frozen expression. “Erm, I wasn't serious, you know... not entirely... You're not in trouble, right?”

“N-no, I'm not in trouble,” James croaked. Not yet, anyway.

Percy looked at him calmly, then smiled and nodded.

“Okay. Well, I'm not going to tell your parents if you don't want me to,” he said quietly and James swallowed. Taking a deep breath, he tried to figure out how to say what he wanted to say.

“I'm not sure how to ask this,” he muttered awkwardly and Percy raised an eyebrow.

“Just ask?” he suggested. “I won't take away points for lack of eloquence.”

Oliver slowly made to leave again, rolling his eyes at Percy.

“Okay. So, how did you-” James blurted out, stopping mid-sentence and releasing a long breath. He looked at his hands picking at the hem of the tablecloth in his lap. “How did you get your head around being... being gay?”

The room was completely silent. James could see from the corner of his vision that Oliver had frozen in his movement and was still standing in the door clutching the handle. Percy sat across from him at the table, his head briefly turning to Oliver, then back to James, who didn't want to look up from his hands _ever again_.

And why was that kitchen clock ticking so loudly.

Damn it all to hell.

“James,” Percy eventually spoke and James forced himself to glance up. Percy looked surprised, he thought, surprised and a little lost. Definitely a new expression for his uncle.

“I don't know how to... how to do this,” James choked out. “I didn't know who to ask and... What do I _do?_ ”

“Listen, James,” Percy said, “Look at me.” When James reluctantly lifted his head, Percy smiled, a little awkwardly perhaps. “First of all, there's no reason to be scared or... or embarrassed. All right, I know you're a bit... unsettled, it's understandable. But it'll be okay.” He paused. “It was right of you to come here.”

James looked at him for a moment, then threw a quick glance at Oliver, who no longer looked like he was going to leave the room, before focusing on the table top.

“We can talk about this,” Percy prompted. “It's not the end of the world.”

James looked up at him, a little defiantly. It was easy for _Percy_ to say that. Percy had his boring Ministry job and his own flat and he'd already come out ages ago. He didn't go to _school_ , where he was trying to be _popular_...

“But how am I supposed to deal with this?” He grabbed his cup of tea to hide behind. “I mean, it's just hard for me, okay, everything's-” His eyes widened. “I didn't mean hard! I mean... oh hell...”

He clasped his free hand over his eyes.

He still wanted to die. More so than ever.

Why had he ever come here?

“Is that why you think of giving up Quidditch?” Oliver suddenly asked. “...Showers?”

James was still covering his face with his hand as he nodded curtly. He could hear Oliver come back into the room and sit down next to him. He flinched when he felt his hand on his shoulder.

“Hey,” Oliver smiled, “I've been there, okay? No reason to die on the spot.”

James moved his fingers apart half an inch and glanced at him in disbelief.

“What, are you telling me you're...”

“Gay. Yes.”

James moved his hand away from his face. Okay, so that had caught him off guard. Oliver cocked his head and grinned at Percy, who seemed more relaxed now that he didn't have to face the situation alone, but had Oliver to diffuse the tension a little.

“I was just a bit older than you when I came to that conclusion – oh, don't ask, I was horribly obsessed with Quidditch; there was no time for questioning my sexuality until it began to mess with my Quidditch routine...” Oliver laughed and nudged James. “ But my surname's _Wood_ , come on. Not only have I _thought_ of every bad pun and joke about 'riding a broomstick', I'm fairly convinced I invented a couple.”

A small smile tugged at James's lips.

“You think?” he joked faintly and Oliver quirked an eyebrow. On the other side of the table, Percy got up, smiling more confidently now.

“I think we can use more tea,” he said, “and perhaps we can add a bit of Charlie's Romanian liquor with it... we won't tell your parents that, either.”

James nodded and Percy collected the cups and put the kettle on again.

“So I can... you know...” James began quietly, “be gay and still play Quidditch? I mean... maybe not just at school, but...”

“Yes, you can,” Oliver replied, feeling rather reminded of himself when he heard the desperate undertone in James's voice. “It's not always going to be easy; it never is. But you don't have to give it up just because you like boys.”

“But-”

“You'll learn to handle the showering,” Oliver cut him off. “Trust me. You probably don't like to hear this, but you're only fourteen. You're going to do a lot of growing up yet.”

James decided not to protest, even if he didn't like being called practically a child. He figured in this case it was probably better if Oliver was right.

“And once you're Quidditch captain,” Oliver added with a wink, “You can use the prefects' bathroom. It's quite… ‘comfortable’, I can vouch for that.” He grinned wickedly and nodded towards Percy, who was preparing tea on the kitchen counter and had turned his back on them.

“He can also vouch that it's not at all recommendable to be caught by an actual prefect while being ‘comfortable’,” Percy replied sternly without turning around. Oliver rolled his eyes and James giggled, feeling the lump in his stomach slowly dissolve into fluttering giddiness.

~*~

When he looked into Percy's bathroom mirror as he washed his hands three hours later, James noticed to his embarrassment that his cheeks didn't only feel hot, but were also glowing with the two cups of tea-with-a-shot-of-Romanian-liquor he'd had.

How embarrassing.

Splashing a little water into his face, he hoped that it would cool his blush. He didn't want Oliver to think he was a lightweight.

Didn't really help.

He could always blame it on the chicken having been spicy.

Or maybe not, he thought with a sigh.

He'd enjoyed staying for dinner when Percy had offered, especially since Oliver had more or less invited himself to stay, too. They had continued to talk about all sorts of things while Percy had prepared some Hungarian chicken dish, occasionally putting one or two of Oliver's exciting tales of adventure into a perspective that made them look like foolish recklessness, or asking James a question or two.

When James hadn't wanted to commit himself to coming out to anyone else anytime soon, Percy had calmly recommended that he tell his parents first, no matter what, and stopped pressing the matter.

James had also flusteredly answered that no, there wasn't actually anyone in particular he liked and no, he hadn't really ever kissed anyone or anything...

But to the biggest part, Oliver had been the one to do the talking and James had been glad for it. Oliver's stories were more fun to listen to than Percy's lectures, and James liked how many of the stories were connected to Quidditch and parties and doing silly things. It was more his cup of tea than being gay behind an office desk, no offence to Uncle Percy.

When James left the bathroom to go back into the kitchen, he took care to be as quiet as possible, wondering what they were talking about him.

To his vague disappointment, they weren't.

“...not until the third,” Percy was saying as he put the dishes into the sink and turned back to look at Oliver, who was standing at the table and clearing off the rest of the plates. “The earliest I could try to make it back is on the second in the evening.”

“Hm, no it's all right then,” Oliver replied, stepping up next to him to put the dishes on top of the rest. “I'm up in Scotland with the team and we leave on the second in the morning, so... well, I guess I'll just take you out for big dinner when I'm back, instead.”

Percy raised an eyebrow.

“Big dinner, huh? May I venture a guess?”

“Oh, there's this Italian place that does fantastic pasta,” Oliver wiggled his eyebrows. “It's called 'Oliver's' and you can even stay overnight...”

“Sounds shady,” Percy chuckled. “It probably has bed bugs and a tiny shower...”

Oliver gasped and clutched his chest in mock outrage.

“How dare you! ...All right, so you might not get too much sleep and it could get a little crowded in the shower, but...”

Laughing, Percy threw a tea towel at him and Oliver grinned.

“Table for two, then?”

“Well, I suppose we can always ask for our money back if it sucks...”

James, still standing outside the door, gaped.

He wasn't imagining things, was he? He pinched himself. No, he could still hear muted giggling from inside the kitchen.

Oh sweet Circe.

He felt a little stupid for not having noticed or at least suspected – but who in their right mind would ever expect his Uncle Percy and Oliver Wood, of all people...

“...wonder where James disappeared off to,” Percy's voice suddenly reached his ears and tore him out of his thoughts. Straightening up, James did his best to look like he hadn't been eavesdropping and opened the door.

“There you are!” Percy greeted him and Oliver, who had sat back down with a bottle of beer, nodded.

“All right?”

“Yeah,” James replied, suddenly a little nervous again. Looking at Percy, he smiled. “Erm, I'm thinking I should probably go home sometime...”

Percy smiled back and nodded.

“Thanks,” James blurted out, looking from Percy to Oliver and back. “For dinner and tea and... it was... it was really good to see you both. And... thanks.”

“Anytime,” Percy replied. “If you ever want to talk, or if you feel like writing, I'll be there.”

“Thanks,” James muttered and let himself be pulled into a hug. “I'll write.”

“And don't you go all silly and give up Quidditch,” Oliver's mock reproachful voice reached his ears. “If I hear that Hufflepuff won the Quidditch Cup because James Potter was too scared to have a shower with his team, I shall be getting very cross indeed.”

“I won't,” James blushed when Oliver got up from his chair and stepped over to him.

Holy. Mother. Of. Merlin.

He was getting a hug from Oliver Wood.

“Take care, kid,” Oliver winked as he released James, who nodded numbly and awkwardly shoved his hands into his pockets.

“Thanks. I will. So... erm, goodbye and... thanks and have... a nice evening, I guess...”

“Say hello to everyone at home,” Percy smiled as he accompanied James to the Floo. “And tell your Mum that I'll be in touch once I'm back from my business trip.”

“Will do.”

When James had stepped into the fireplace and the flames turned yellow behind him as he left, Percy turned around to look at Oliver, who was leaning in the kitchen door.

“He's a good kid,” Oliver remarked and Percy nodded.

“He is. And I hope you do know that he's got a massive crush on you, right?”

Oliver chuckled.

“I think it's rather sweet. I feel oddly flattered, you know, at my age.”

~*~

_3 years later, Christmas_

“You're not seeing Stephen anymore?”

“Nah, we sort of broke up last month,” James muttered into his glass of punch. “It wasn't really working out...”

Smiling sympathetically, Oliver patted James's shoulder.

“Ah, you'll find someone else,” he tried to cheer him up. “You'll see. And you're in your final year as Quidditch captain, so you should be focusing on flattening Slytherin in the race for the Cup.”

Chuckling, James leaned back into the sofa before frowning and pulling someone's Christmas present – a moving tablet for translating runes that could only belong to Rose – out from under his back and putting it aside.

“I guess I should... although a responsible adult would tell me to focus on NEWTs, you know...”

“Oh NEWTs, who's ever needed NEWTs...” Oliver grinned and clinked his glass against James's.

Outside the living room window, Ginny and Percy stood nursing their mugs of mulled wine, smiling at the scene they were witnessing inside while everyone else was fussing over the bombastic Christmas firework George was setting up in the far corner of the back garden of the Burrow.

“It's nice to see James happy and relaxed,” Ginny remarked. “He's taken the break-up with Stephen harder than he cares to admit, I think... But I think he was looking forward to seeing you and Oliver.”

Percy chuckled.

“I wonder if this is the right moment to tell you that he used to be rather infatuated with Oliver not so very long ago...”

Ginny covered her mouth with her hand to stifle her giggles.

“I _know!_ He used to worship the ground he was walking on!” She shook her head, grinning, then continued. “No, but he got over that. And I think it was more about wanting to be like Oliver than an actual crush. He looks up to him, adores him, but he always knew that Oliver loves you.”

“I know,” Percy replied.

Ginny narrowed her eyes. “In fact, James knew before anyone else did.”

“Oh, come off it,” Percy rolled his eyes. “I had to make sure he was more than a casual shag before I introduced Oliver as my boyfriend...”

“Fair enough, but how long exactly did it take you to make up your mind? People don't ‘casually shag’ for years on end...” Ginny replied and Percy raised an eyebrow.

“Speak for yourself.”

“Oh, shut up.”

Percy's answer was cut off by a fairly tipsy Teddy stumbling towards them through the snow.

“We're almost set to go!” he beamed. “It's going to be _gigantic!_ Uncle George has brought half the joke shop and _we're going to blow it all up all over the place!_ ”

Percy allowed himself to look terrified while Ginny chuckled.

“James and Oliver are still inside, though,” she remarked and Teddy rolled his eyes in exasperation before stomping off towards the door.

“Well, what are they waiting for? Hey, you lot, the firework's ready to start!”

When Oliver and James emerged from the house, wrapped in scarves and jackets, everyone had been told to line up close to the house – for safety, George had pompously declared. Ginny watched how James squeezed in between Percy and Teddy, who was bouncing up and down with anticipation.

The first rocket of estimated five hundred went up and Teddy leaned over to James to whisper excitedly into his ear. James grinned and nodded in reply and Teddy beamed at him before looking back up at the night sky.

Unlike Teddy, however, Ginny looked long enough to see an expression of thoughtful, wondrous marvel appear on her son's face as he stole another furtive glance at the young man next to him.

Ginny took a sip of mulled wine. This promised to be interesting.

The End


End file.
